


Cake by the Ocean

by zoicite



Category: The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - The Little Mermaid Fusion, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Kissing, Mermaids, Misunderstandings, Non-Linear Narrative, Sharing a Bed, tltexchange2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:48:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28661250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoicite/pseuds/zoicite
Summary: Okay, so the thing was, Gideon had always been shit at plans. She knew that.Everyoneknew that, but this--she really didn’t think it would be this hard! Gideon’s voice was like theleastmemorable thing about her. Bargaining her voice for a well-shaped set of human legs--that really should have worked in her favor.
Relationships: Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus
Comments: 25
Kudos: 132





	Cake by the Ocean

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Morike91](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morike91/gifts).



> Written for the Locked Tomb Holiday Exchange 2020 for Morike91, who asked for a Gideon/Harrow fairy tale AU (writer's choice on the fairy tale). I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Title borrowed from 'Cake by the Ocean' by DNCE.

Nothing was going according to plan, which maybe wasn’t that surprising, because--Okay, so the thing was, Gideon had always been shit at plans. She knew that. _Everyone_ knew that, but this--she really didn’t think it would be this hard! Gideon’s voice was like the _least_ memorable thing about her. Bargaining her voice for a well-shaped pair of human legs--that really should have worked in her favor! It was much harder to put a (now literal) foot in her mouth when she couldn’t say anything fucked up to begin with.

Gideon stood on the shore, her toes pressing into the sun-warm sand, and she looked out at the sea. The afternoon sun was bright and warm on her ridiculously dry skin. It was pretty nice, actually. It felt like she was sizzling, like the sun was frying the skin of her shoulders and if she stood there too long she might turn into one of those poor crisped up fish they kept trying to serve her for dinner, but it still felt strangely nice. It didn’t make sense and Gideon figured it was just one of those weird human things she’d have to discuss with Palamedes once she could talk again. 

She turned to look back up the beach, toward the spot where Harrowhark was perched beneath the shade of a broad black umbrella, Ortus Nigenad standing guard at her side. When Gideon showed up, big and silent, the castle hired her as the personal guard for the Princess of Drearburh on the spot. There was apparently a _help wanted_ sign posted somewhere, which Gideon missed when she stumbled up from the shore wearing some clothes she’d gathered from a shipwreck. It was a good start. Lucky, even. Someone was trying to murder the princess, had tried twice since her betrothal to one of the princesses of Ida, so Gideon expected her arrival to be treated with suspicion. Instead they took one look at her and shoved a sword in her hand.

“So they hired a mysterious soaking wet mute woman no one’s ever seen before,” Palamedes concluded when Gideon relayed the news through a series of gestures and a scrawl of squid ink on a smooth stone tablet. “If that’s how they go about security here, that princess is as good as dead and so are you.”

Gideon couldn’t say anything to that, so she settled for vehemently shaking her head and flexing her arms. He probably got the point.

 _Nice arms, Pal! She said I had nice arms!_ The way Harrow’s big eyes looked up at Gideon that day on the beach, Gideon was sure she had this in the bag. 

Then again, he also had a point. Maybe Drearburh was just really lacking in suitable muscle. 

Take Ortus Nigenad. He had to be one of the castle’s most inept guards and the fact that he was the assigned guard to a threatened princess was laughable. He actually seemed _grateful_ when he was immediately demoted upon Gideon’s arrival. He sat with Harrow now only because Gideon was taking a scheduled break, a bit of predetermined time for herself. 

“Go into town,” Captain Aiglamene said on her first day there. “Say hi to your family. Relax. You have two hours to yourself each day. Ortus can handle no more than that. Use the time wisely.”

Gideon couldn’t exactly go visit her family, and probably wouldn’t even if she could. Her family was made up of a bunch of power-hungry misfits gathered together by her megalomaniac dad. Hell, even Cytherea the Sea Witch was technically family, which was probably the only reason Gideon wasn’t already dead. So yeah, no family visits. No, thanks. She did go into town once. Gideon loved it, but she got lost and was late coming back, which earned her a sneer and sharp words from the princess she’d sworn to protect and really, _really_ needed to woo. She swore off trips into town after that.

Ortus had a book open in front of him and appeared to be reading aloud. Harrow looked bored out of her mind. And even though Gideon was standing right there, all long legs and strong arms, very much exposed in her bandeau and tight swimming shorts and sizzling attractively under the afternoon sun, she hadn’t caught Harrow looking even once. Not a single glance. 

Gideon was starting to get a bit concerned that she might actually die up here.

Well. She had a week and a half. It wasn’t time to give up just yet.

Gideon shook out her legs, her hands set on her hips as she stared out at the rock that stuck up above the surf. She waited. They were late. 

_Come on._

Finally, an hour into her break, a hand poked up from behind the rock and waved frantically. Gideon rushed into the water, nearly fell when the waves slapped back against her legs, and then recovered and dove gracefully beneath the surface. At least she hoped it looked graceful. She surfaced halfway between the shore and the rock, swam the rest of the way and then pulled herself up. She stood on the slippery rock face and stretched, more for Harrow’s benefit than anything else. 

“Sit down, you look like a fool,” came a voice from behind the rock. Palamedes. 

If she had a voice she would have said, _You’re the fool who’s fucking late,_ , but she didn’t have a voice, so she didn’t say anything. She just did as she was told, sat down on the rock with her back toward the shore. She sat up straight so it looked like she was meditating or something, set her hands on her knees and then looked down at Palamedes and Camilla, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah,” Camilla agreed, wet hair plastered to her forehead and cheeks. She ducked beneath the water and tipped her head back to get it out of her face. “We’re late. I did try.”

Gideon shrugged and then tilted her head back toward the beach. 

“No, she’s still not looking.”

Gideon sighed.

“It’s been a week,” Palamedes pointed out. “You’re running out of time.”

Gideon didn’t need a voice for that response. Pal could easily read the irritated _I KNOW_ on her lips.

“Hm,” Palamedes said. He studied her for a long moment, eyes big behind the thick glass of the Second Eyes he’d purchased at the Aquatic Galleria of Human Detritus. He pushed the wire frames up on his nose. He had them tied tight behind his head with some twine so he didn’t lose them while he swam. Took him like a month to figure that one out. Before that he and Cam were always swimming around looking for Pal’s lost eyes. 

Now he heaved his tablet up onto the rock, splashing Gideon in the process. She held out her hand for his squid ink pen.

“Tell us everything that’s happened since our last meeting,” Pal ordered. “Thank the Sea King you brought us along when you went to see the Sea Witch. You’d be long dead by now.” Okay, unnecessary words. Pal was talking like he was just trying to rub it in that he could. Anyway, she wasn’t sure Cytherea had the fins to kill the Sea King’s actual flesh and blood daughter anyway. He had a lot of mer-kids, sure, but he only had one that he carried in his pouch, fertilized and nurtured into a small fry. And yeah, okay, that small fry had since made a deal with the black fish of the family, sold her voice and maybe her life so she could ditch her dad and the sea, all to save one sad sand princess dressed entirely in black. Still.

Gideon had a week and a half. 

Maybe it was an empty threat. Or maybe it wasn’t and she’d die. She didn’t plan to find out either way. She had the legs, she had the arms. She had a winning smile and a heart of gold. It was only a matter of time before Harrow realized the full package standing before her. It was only a matter of time before Harrow fell, and this time Gideon was going to be there to catch her on the way down.

Gideon hunched over the tablet, made sure her back was squarely facing Harrow and Ortus, and began to write.

**

The first time Gideon encountered Princess Harrowhark, it was on a ship returning from the Realm of Ida. Gideon loved to watch the ships pass, liked to watch the habits of humans. She wasn’t obsessed with humans--she was more into the adventure of shipwreck exploration than the bits and baubles from the world above the waves. That was Palamedes’s department and she would leave him to it. But a ship was different from a shipwreck. A ship was stuffed full of the weird and wonderful, and it was an adventure all on its own, just replace the sharks with harpoons and nets. A ship had platforms where you could just hitch a ride if you wanted to, like current transport except not at all like current transport. Still, it could get you from one place to another place without having to flip a fin, just sit back and listen to all of the ridiculous things said above, superstitious things about sirens with sharp pointed shark teeth, about her dad and his royal court of mer-jerks. 

Usually the boats were full of fishing equipment, men and women milling about, casting out nets and traps that Gideon dodged, and sometimes cut with a wicked little knife Camilla had found for her. The day of the encounter, Gideon was with Camilla when she caught sight of the boat. She knew the fishing schedule for nearly every boat in the bay, and this boat was not on that fishing schedule.

“Let’s go,” Gideon said with a swift yank on Cam’s arm. “It’s probably a party.”

Camilla groaned and held back. She wasn’t particularly interested in ships or human detritus (unless the human detritus was weaponry), and she was still wary after the one time someone dropped a barrel of something overboard and Gideon dared Pal and Cam to taste it. Gideon drank some too and they all ended up laughing, clinging to a barrel as they bobbed at the surface, having the time of their lives. The problem was, before long, the time of their lives started to spin. They were dizzy, dehydrated and sick for three days.

It was a difficult thing being dehydrated when you lived in the sea.

“They might try to blow up the sky again,” Gideon pointed out. “You like that.”

There it was. That got Cam moving.

They kept back away from the ship, kept to the side opposite the setting sun. It was definitely a party. Most of the humans above her weren’t messing with nets or lines. They were bouncing up and down, the sound of their feet rhythmic against the wood of the deck. Gideon had watched enough ships to know that they called it dancing, and also that they looked like absolute fools doing it. Someone was shouting, a cup held high in his hand, and when he lowered his hand, he stumbled and nearly fell. Yeah, Gideon remembered that feeling.

On one end of the ship, standing well away from the crowd, were two girls. They appeared to be engaged in a conversation, but their body language was stiff and awkward, like maybe they didn’t know each other too well, or they knew each other just well enough to know that they didn’t get on. The shorter of the two, a slight shadow of a girl, was barely visible in the growing darkness. She turned away from the other girl--tall, blonde--to stare out at the sea. Gideon sank lower so only her nose and eyes were above the surface. She pulled Cam down with her. Cam, unimpressed now that she’d confirmed a lack of explosions, sank beneath the surface completely.

That meant she missed what came next. The blonde woman walked away. Her back was slightly hunched, but despite that she held her head high. The little ink blotch stayed where she was. She leaned against the rail of the ship and all but disappeared into the gloom of the evening. 

Gideon swam closer. 

The girl was staring down into the water with an intensity that Gideon had never seen on a human. She was glaring, so sharp that Gideon was sure that if those eyes caught on her, they’d cut as sharp as any harpoon.

Gideon wanted to know what those eyes felt like on her.

She swam closer, carefully slipped into the girl’s line of sight and received no reaction. The girl’s head was elsewhere. She was seeing without really seeing, glaring at everything and nothing. Gideon tried a little wave. 

That got her attention. In the lights from the ship, Gideon saw the girl’s eyes go wide, just before a dark shape appeared behind her. 

“Hey!” Gideon shouted without thinking. “Behind you, watch out!”

She was too late. The dark shape--human, certainly--lashed out and hit the girl as she turned. The girl flew back with the force of the impact, her body hitting the rail, and then she was falling, over the edge and down toward the dark waters of the bay. The girl hit the water bottom first and the sea swallowed her whole, eager as always for a decent meal. 

Gideon dove and surged down toward the sinking girl, her tail pumping fast. Camilla called out after her, but Gideon hardly heard her, all of her focus on grabbing that girl and getting air back into her lungs. When Gideon caught the girl, she didn’t thrash or kick, she hung limp in Gideon’s arms.

“Hold on,” Gideon said. “I’ve got you.” She pushed up toward the surface, fast so that when she broke through the waves it was with enough force to propel half of her body up and into the air. She held tight to the girl as she crashed gracelessly back down again. 

“You still with me?” she asked, her head turned in toward the girl’s ear. No response. Gideon pounded her hand against the girl’s back and when the girl started coughing, she whooped in triumph. Camilla surfaced beside Gideon, carefully positioning herself out of the girl’s line of site.

“You’ve lost it,” Cam said, matter-of-fact, but she didn’t try to intervene and for that Gideon was grateful. “If anyone finds out about this--”

“They’ll what? Ground me? Come on,” Gideon said. The girl sputtered against Gideon’s shoulder, clung to Gideon’s arms and waist. “That boat was headed toward Drearburh. Let’s get her back.” 

**

“Griddle?” Harrow asked. Gideon had her back turned while Harrow dressed for dinner, her head down and her hand on the hilt of the sword they’d given her. She stared down at her feet shoved into a pair of thick leather shoes. It’d been a week and it was still really fucking weird having feet. She looked up at that mispronunciation of her name, but she didn’t turn, unsure if Harrow was dressed. 

She didn’t need to turn. Harrow came to stand in front of her instead. She’d changed her clothes, but that just meant changing from the black shirt and trousers she wore during the day to the black dress she wore to dinner. She looked like the cloud of ink left behind when you scared a squid during a game of hide and seek among the reefs. 

“Griddle, what do you _do_ out on that rock during your break?”

Sweet, Harrow had noticed her after all.

Gideon, obviously, couldn’t really respond to the question--and might not have responded truthfully, even if she had a voice--but Harrow was watching her closely with those big dark eyes, waiting for an answer, so Gideon shrugged her shoulders. She then straightened her back, held up her hands, fingers pressed together. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, let out a long exhale. When she opened one eye to check Harrow’s response, she found that Harrow was frowning. 

“I don’t like liars.” Before there had been a note of inquisitive amusement in Harrow’s voice. Now she just sounded haughty and pinched.

Gideon shook her head and held up her hands to show she was unarmed. She hoped it didn’t look like surrender.

“That didn’t look like meditation to me,” Harrow said. “In fact, it looked a bit like you were--well.”

 _What_? 

“You should probably know that, to those of us on shore, the way you were hunched with your shoulders shaking and your hands in your lap--it looked a lot like you were out there pleasuring yourself,” Harrow said with an air of chilly indifference, though it seemed she was blinking more often than she normally did. “And while we all have needs, there are surely more private locations for such things than on a rock out in the bay, Griddle.”

Gideon’s eyes went wide and this time when she shook her head, she shook it _emphatically_. It was bad enough that no one here could decipher Gideon’s handwriting, that they misunderstood her name and now insisted on calling her _Griddle_ all the time. It was bad enough that Harrow didn’t remember her _at all_ from the day she was hit over the head and pushed overboard. Now Harrow thought Gideon spent her time crouched out on a rock _pleasuring herself_ too? 

If Gideon could have groaned, she would have. She did groan, actually, though it was silent and just made her look like a weirdo with her head thrown back and her mouth open. 

“You’re very strange,” Harrow concluded. She looked Gideon up and down. “You must really be something with that sword for Aiglamene to overlook the rest.” Here Harrow paused, long enough for Gideon to feel her skin start to grow hot under Harrow’s scrutinous gaze. She felt like she was in danger of boiling from the inside out. “You’ll have to show me sometime.”

That was...probably not flirting? But the way Gideon felt--like she wanted to tear off all of her clothes and jump off Harrow’s balcony into the sea for some relief--it felt _a little_ like flirting. That was good. That was progress!

Could it really be flirting though, given the context? It seemed entirely possible that Gideon was just desperate for any small crumb. She’d really rather not dissolve into foam at the end of all this.

Harrow looked up at Gideon, her chin tilted and her face cool and unaffected. “Come on, Griddle. We’ll be late for dinner and I don’t want to hear Ianthe go on about it.” 

There was one other problem. Two problems.

Gideon had never used a sword out of the water. She had absolutely no idea if she was good with it or not.

Also, Harrow was engaged to be married. 

**

By the time Gideon and Camilla reached the shores of Drearburh, it was nearing morning. The girl alternated between lying limp and quiet in Gideon’s arms, climbing to her like a freshwater leech, and fighting Gideon as she shouted, her fingers transforming into claws against Gideon’s skin as she fought.

“Let go of me!” she snapped. At one point, when the girl’s fingers caught in Gideon’s bandeau and nearly tore it off, Gideon did let go, shouted “Fine!” as she pushed the girl away. It quickly became obvious that the girl didn’t even know how to swim! Also, her head was bleeding and she seemed pretty out of it. Gideon adjusted the bandeau and pulled the girl back up and into her arms.

When Gideon dragged herself up onto the shore with the girl in tow, the girl was quiet again, eyes closed, head turned to the side.

“What now?” Gideon asked, unsure what she was supposed to do. She tapped her fingers against the girl’s cheek. Nothing. “Cam, what now?”

Camilla hung back in the surf, unwilling to pull herself up onto the sand. 

“You leave her there and we get out of here,” Camilla called back. 

“I can’t just leave her here,” Gideon protested. She brushed dark hair from the girl’s forehead. “She’s out of it. What if no one finds her or the wrong person finds her.”

Camilla’s sigh was heavy enough that the sound carried over the surf to Gideon’s ears. “Okay, so we wait with her, they catch you, and you end up a delicacy on their dinner plates. Braised mermaid.”

Gideon laughed at that jab. “I guess you forgot who won this morning’s match in the reef. You think I can’t take a few humans?”

Camilla grunted. “Flopping around on the sand like that? No. That girl doesn’t have a single muscle and she’d beat you.”

Gideon growled and turned back to the girl. She shook the girl’s shoulders. “Hey! Wake up!”

The girl didn’t wake, but she did move a little. Her hand came up to swat some sand from her face. Her pointed chin went slack and her mouth opened slightly. Some water dribbled out. Gideon shook her again and she moaned. Gideon tapped fingers against her cheek and this time the girl’s eyes snapped open. They narrowed upon seeing Gideon. 

“Why the hell did you do that?” the girl asked. 

Gideon paused, confused. “Um, you were attacked?”

The girl’s frown deepened. “Was I?”

“Yeah, you’re bleeding.” The girl pushed Gideon away, apparently not at all fazed by the fact (or completely unaware) that Gideon wasn’t human. She struggled to her feet, her hands firm on Gideon’s shoulders, using her for support. 

“Maybe you should sit for a while,” Gideon suggested. “You nearly drowned.”

“I welcome it,” the girl said dramatically, and then she promptly fell. 

Gideon tried to catch this Drowning Princess of Darkness, but she slipped right through Gideon’s arms (in Gideon’s defense, the girl was really very small and Gideon, for obvious reasons, wasn’t particularly mobile on land) and knocked her head against a rock. 

“Fuck,” Gideon breathed. She checked the girl’s head, fingers clumsy in the girl’s fine dark hair. There was a little blood when Gideon pulled her fingers away, but it was impossible to tell if it was from the hit on the boat or the hit against the rock. 

Gideon slapped her once across the face. Not hard, just a slap of fingers against the girl’s cheek. After a moment, the girl groaned and opened her eyes again.

Gideon felt relief rush through her and she smiled down at that sharp angry face in the faint light of the approaching morning. Now that it was getting brighter, Gideon noticed things she hadn’t noticed before: the points of the girl’s upper lip, the thick eyelashes that framed her dark eyes. Gideon leaned in and pressed a kiss to the girl’s forehead and then she said: “There you are. Listen, I don’t know if this is the same for humans, but like--if you hit your head where I’m from, you’re definitely not supposed to sleep right after. Stay awake with me for a while, okay? I’ve got you.”

The girl seemed like she was actually looking at Gideon for the first time, her dark eyes on Gideon’s, her hands on Gideon’s hands, on her wrists and then her arms. Gideon felt the sudden urge to kiss that viciously pointed little mouth. She didn’t do it. This girl was just nearly murdered, hit her head twice, almost drowned. Gideon wasn’t a complete oaf, no matter what Camilla might think. The sun was rising behind Gideon and the light illuminated the girl’s face. There was sand on her jaw and it sparkled in the sun. Gideon swiped it away with her thumb.

“Oh,” the girl said, squinting. She sounded a little faint, a little dreamy, all the hard edges gone from her voice. “Nice arms.”

Gideon flexed, just a bit, beneath the girls hands and was disappointed when the girl’s eyes fell shut in response. 

Gideon waited with her, waking her periodically, until she heard noise coming down the beach. Humans, and more than one. “Over there! Princess Harrow? I saw her standing here as I was tightening the lines on my boat and I--Princess, are you there?”

“Time to go,” Camilla warned, the tension rising in her voice. 

Gideon looked down at the girl--Harrow--one last time. She’d be okay now. They’d take her in and they’d see to her head. They’d keep her awake and make sure--but that didn’t resolve the problem. There was someone trying to kill Harrow on that boat and that someone rode that ship all the way back to Drearburh. They were already here somewhere, and when they saw that they didn’t succeed, they’d try again. Harrow was in danger and she needed protection. 

The voices were getting closer, approaching fast. Gideon was going to lose the shelter of the rocks at any moment. She twisted back toward the water, rolled into the waves where Camilla was waiting to catch her arms and pull her deeper. They surfaced again farther out where they were unlikely to be noticed. A large man was lifting Harrow, cradling her in his arms. She wrapped an arm around his neck and lifted her head. She was awake again. Good.

Did she remember the attack? Did she really welcome it?

“Well,” Camilla said over Gideon’s shoulder. “That was the dumbest thing you’ve ever done.”

Gideon grunted, head still full of the drowning princess. “Oh yeah? Wait till you see what I’m about to do next.”

**

Gideon might have gone about things differently if she’d realized that her dark and stormy damsel-in-distress was set to marry the reedy blonde lady from the boat. She might have second guessed a contract with Cytherea that required Gideon to make Harrow fall in love with her by the exact date of Harrow’s wedding. At the time, it’d seemed easy. She remembered the way that Harrow had touched her, the wonder in her voice, and she really thought she had it in the bag! Gideon worked hard on her body. She lifted weights daily, worked out with Camilla in the reefs. She knew how she looked and--okay, sometimes she got a little too cocky about it, but she also wasn’t blind. Harrow liked what she saw in those moments before she passed out. Gideon couldn’t get the way Harrow’d said _nice arms_ out of her damn head. She couldn’t stop thinking of how Harrow had clung to her, of legs--legs!--wrapped around her waist and a face pressed to Gideon’s shoulder. 

She imagined that Harrow would recognize her on sight, that her eyes would go wide like they had when she saw Gideon from the boat, that she’d gravitate toward Gideon, unable to help herself.

None of that happened. 

Harrow didn’t seem to recognize her at all, not even when someone mentioned the incident on the ship, or how they’d found Harrow washed up on shore. Oh, sure, Harrow claimed she remembered a big muscle lady helping her, but there seemed to be no connection in Harrow’s brain between the woman on the beach and the woman standing before her on a brand new set of legs. 

For the first few days after Gideon was assigned as Harrow’s personal guard, Harrow hardly looked at her at all. It wasn’t until she realized that Gideon really couldn’t talk that she started to relax, just a bit, in Gideon’s presence. After that she treated Gideon more like a servant than a guard. 

“Griddle, I need you to carry this chair down to the beach. Set it in the shade cast by the tower.” and “Griddle, I would sleep so much better if you rearranged all of the furniture in this room and move my bed over _there_.” and “Griddle, grab that thing on that really high shelf for me right away.”

Now Gideon sat beside Harrow at dinner and she couldn’t stop thinking of the look on Harrow’s face as Harrow accused her of lying and then of being inappropriate out on that rock. 

_I was just talking to mermaids_ , Gideon could have said, but Harrow probably wouldn’t have believed that anymore than she did meditation. Gideon fidgeted, then tried to still herself when Harrow glanced hard in her direction. She was dying to get a second opinion on the possible-flirting, possible-humiliation-tactic that just occurred upstairs, but there was no one to talk to and even if there was, it wouldn’t help because Gideon couldn’t say a word. 

In Drearburh, the princess’s personal guards apparently sat at the table with the rest of the dinner guests, which was fine. Gideon was technically a princess too, though she wasn’t about to tell anyone that and she was fairly certain no one would ever guess. Being a princess was pretty much bullshit, honestly, and watching Harrow sitting opposite her betrothed just confirmed that. 

Harrow’s father sat at one end of the table, his face dark and serious--nothing like Gideon’s own awful dad, who flashed smiles that never meant a damn thing--and Harrow’s mother sat at the other, looking somber and bored. Gideon was at Harrow’s right side and Ortus (though demoted) sat at Harrow’s left. Opposite sat the Princess of Ida, Ianthe Tridentarius and Prince of Ida, Naberius Tern.

Gideon took one look at Naberius Tern, at the twist of his mouth and the stiffness of his hair, the way his hand held the sword at his side, and she knew exactly what she was up against. She took one look at Tern and she recognized him, the dark shape of him, the way he might look swinging something heavy over Harrow’s head. 

Gideon knew how these things worked. She couldn’t just accuse the man. She had to bide her time. 

Dinner was uncomfortably silent. Occasionally King Priamhark would clear his throat to dislodge a chunk of poor Freddie the Fish and Queen Pelleamena would say something about the weather. Sometimes Prince Naberius would brag and Ianthe would roll her eyes across the table at Harrow in some show of solidarity forged over exasperation with the pompous prick. Gideon nibbled the vegetables on her plate and took big bites of the bread, though the lack of moisture routinely left her with hiccups. Finally Harrow’s parents stood and the room was filled with the screech of chairs as everyone stood with them. 

The princesses, the prince, and the guards were then led to the room adjoining the study where the heinously nasty butler, Crux, was waiting to pour them glasses of the very same liquid Gideon had once sipped from a floating barrel in the middle of the bay. 

She steered clear of the stuff now, which was good, because she was on the job and Crux never offered her any anyway. It wasn’t just the liquid though. There was also dessert, and Gideon ate three of those.

While Gideon stuffed her face, Harrow sat on one end of an overstuffed chair, her back straight and her glass held in both hands. Ortus perused the bookshelves, no doubt looking for the longest and most tedious book he could find to bore them with. Naberius poked at a piano. Gideon wasn’t that familiar with human music, but she suspected that he was very bad at it. Ianthe lounged in a chair opposite Harrow, slouched low with her arms draped over the sides. She looked as though her day of doing...whatever it was Ianthe did all day had truly exhausted her. Gideon suspected she thought the slouch sexy.

Gideon finished her dessert and stood off to the side, her back stiff and straight as she watched the scene unfold.

“You could at least pretend you want to marry me,” Ianthe drawled. She took a slow sip of her drink and then continued: “I’ve been very nice to you despite it all, haven’t I?”

“Yes,” Harrow agreed. “Your mask is on nice and tight. I’d prefer if you were honest.”

“I can be honest,” Ianthe said. “If you’re so into honesty, then you should know that I find your Drearburh sad and drab, that nothing produced by Drearburh could ever be worth even a fraction of Ida. You’re lucky to land such a match and someday I’d love to know what your father offered to get my parents to agree.”

Harrow smiled down into her drink and when she looked back up her eyes were sharp and dark.

“It’s simple, really. There were two of you. Ida only needed one. There was no need to offer much for the superfluous daughter. I’ve met your sister and it’s no secret which one of you was worth more.”

Ianthe laughed at that, but there was tension in her limbs now, a warning in her tone. If this marriage happened, these two would kill each other within the first week. Not even a thousand royal guards would be enough to stop it.

“She’s got a point, doll,” said Prince Naberius. Gideon had been dining with these two for a week now, and she still didn’t understand how Naberius wasn’t everyone’s primary suspect. He was new to Drearburh, appeared on the scene at the same time the murder threats began. He seemed to be there under the guise of a companion, perhaps chaperone, for Ianthe. Maybe he was a guard too, though he definitely didn’t act like one and usually only showed up at all when food and drink was involved.

“Spending time with the two of you makes me wish I’d drowned in the bay,” Harrow said with a sigh. 

“Yes,” Ianthe said. “I imagine intelligent conversation would be overwhelming when your usual company can’t converse at all.” She turned her head toward Gideon, neck tilted up in consideration. “Can she even understand us or is your Griddle stupid too?”

In Gideon’s short time on land, she’d learned that some things were universal both above and below the waves. She flipped Ianthe off, held it long enough for it to sink in. 

“She understands,” Harrow confirmed. She didn’t look at all upset by Gideon’s breach in decorum.

Ianthe snorted and looked away.

“I thought her name was Gideon,” Naberius said, confused. This was Gideon’s chance to correct the running mispronunciation, but then, she also didn’t want to give the prince the satisfaction of being right. Gideon glared, looked him right in the botched-up blue eyes, and shook her head, nice and slow. He could keep her name off his tongue. 

That night, alone in Harrow’s room, Harrow aggressively tossed the decorative pillows from her bed onto the floor, her face tight and pinched. Gideon aggressively tried to write _It’s Naberius, you idiot_ on a sheet of paper, but her hand shook and her lines looked like nonsense, like a child’s scribble. The fucking contract extended to writing too, it seemed. Gideon could write to Cam and Pal and it would be perfectly legible. She tried to write a single word to Harrow, to anyone in Drearburh, and it came out a garbled nonsensical mess.

“You’re lucky you aren’t royalty, Griddle,” Harrow said without looking at her, one more pillow hurled to the floor. “You’ll never be stuck in a situation like this.”

Gideon did not bother to try to correct Harrow. She was half right. No one in John Pontus’s circle of mer-shits gave one shit about Gideon or who she married. They probably hadn’t even noticed she was gone. 

“I’m going to find that muscle lady--”(Gideon perked up at that, dropped her papers, pointed at her chest.)”--and I’m going to _kill_ her,” Harrow seethed. “ I wouldn’t have to look at that smug _diluted_ face for the rest of my life if I’d just drowned.” Gideon dropped her arm and sighed up at the ceiling. 

Okay, so it probably wasn’t flirting. 

Gideon was doomed.

** 

Two things were obvious the morning of the rescue. The first thing was that the princess was a danger to herself. The second thing was that someone was out to kill her. Without someone looking out for her, she was as good as dead.

Gideon went straight to Cytherea the Sea Witch with Camilla and Palamedes in tow. She didn’t bother with her father or her siblings. They’d laugh at her. _Let the human girl kill herself with her stupidity_ , they’d say, but Gideon was resolved. She’d spent a lot of time watching humans, bobbing at the surface and staring up at the big boats that passed through the bay. None of them had been like this girl, like a sad and scary storm cloud, captured and bottled up. Like a big pile of broken glass that refused to get worn down by the waves.

Gideon explained all of this while looking anywhere but into Cytherea’s too blue eyes.

And then Cytherea leaned forward (Gideon was now averting her eyes from both the too blue eyes and some considerable cleavage) and Cytherea began to bargain.

 _Fine_ , Gideon thought. If it’s going to keep the princess from hurting herself, sure, she would make Harrow fall in love with her. Why not? She didn’t need a voice for that. Talking just seemed to irritate Harrow anyway and other than that there was that moment when Harrow looked up at Gideon with those big, dark, slightly unfocused eyes and said, “ _nice arms_.” So sure, take her voice. 

“I’ll give you three days,” Cytherea said, and Gideon was about to say yes when Camilla nudged her in the arm and Palamedes cleared his throat.

“I’m sorry,” Palamedes said, swimming forward to place himself between Gideon and the Sea Witch. “I think I misheard you just then. Did you say three days or three weeks?”

“She said three days,” Gideon repeated from behind his shoulder. 

Camilla glared.

Palamedes shook his head. “No, that’s absolutely ridiculous. No one is falling in love with anyone in three days, not even Gideon. She needs at least a month.” 

Cytherea narrowed her eyes. “One week.”

Gideon began to open her mouth, but Camilla caught her and clapped a hand over it.

“Three weeks,” Palamedes countered.

Cytherea turned to a shelf and began shifting through stone tablets and seaweed scrolls. 

“Do you know the name of the girl?” Cytherea asked with a tone of innocent inquiry that set Gideon on edge.

“Harrow,” Gideon said, “of, uh, Drearburh.”

“Oh! You mean the princess, Harrowhark Nonagesimus. Interesting choice.” Cytherea paused with her finger on a stone and then smiled and turned back to Palamedes.

“That girl’s a tough clam to crack. Our dear Gideon’s described her well and you’re right. Three days is truly unfair. For Gideon--and only ever for you, you sweet thing--I’ll give two and a half weeks.” Cytherea reached past Palamedes to caress Gideon’s cheek. 

Palamedes appraised Gideon, looked her carefully up and down. “You’re giving her good legs? Nice long ones, muscular?” Here he lifted his tablet and scribbled away, finally holding up what appeared to be a reasonable approximation of a human woman.

Cytherea shrugged. “Sure, I can make her tall, but I’m not giving her those tits. They wouldn’t suit her at all.”

Gideon pushed forward to get a better look at what Palamedes had drawn. _Nice_ , but no, not for her. Cytherea was right.

“And muscular,” Camilla repeated. She jabbed a finger at the legs of the woman on the tablet. “Good calves, strong thighs.”

“This isn’t the Aquatic Galleria!” Cytherea laughed. “Legs. She’ll have legs and two and a half weeks. I’ll promise no more.”

“Human legs,” Gideon clarified. She was more worried about waking up with the legs of a crab than whether she had shapely calves. She had great arms, if her legs were a little lackluster, she could make do. As long as they were human and not some hybrid monstrosity.

Cytherea was done laughing. She looked a bit like she was contemplating murder. 

“Right,” Palamedes said, clearing his throat. “Is there a contract we could review?”

**

Harrow liked to walk in the mornings, just as the sun was beginning to rise. Gideon walked at her side, her hand on her sword, ready for anything and everything to happen. Naberius Tern could be lurking anywhere in this early morning haze, biding his time, the sharp knife he carried on his hip tight in his hand. Gideon was ready. Couldn’t wait, really. She lay awake at night imagining how she would confront him, how she’d draw her sword and point it at his throat. She just needed him to slip.

Gideon kept to Harrow’s quick pace and her mind spun with questions, a lot of them about Naberius, a few about Ianthe, but most of the important ones about Harrow, like: had Harrow always done these early morning beach walks? Had this started recently, like--oh, dunno, maybe around the same time she hitched a ride back to shore with a mystery woman, a woman whose arms she caressed while tucked away among the rocks?

Harrow was usually quiet during these walks. Once she pointed toward the spot by the rocks and said, “That’s where they found me.” She said nothing more about it, but she did pause near the rocks sometimes, though she always managed to make it look like she was pausing for some other reason. One morning she needed to hold on to Gideon’s arm while she removed sand from her shoe. Another morning she decided to collect shells in the sand--and then she discarded them all again once the walk was finished, tossing them to the ground at Gideon’s feet. 

There was a splash out in the bay, a fish or a dolphin excited about the morning, and Harrow stopped walking and turned toward the water. Gideon dug her feet into the sand and waited.

“Have you heard the legends of the merpeople, Griddle?” Harrow asked, suddenly. She turned to squint up at Gideon in the early morning sun. Gideon froze. Harrow’s dark eyes were strangely bright, and she waited only a moment before she repeated her question. “ _Merpeople_. You know, like mermaids and sirens?”

Gideon could feel that her own eyes were wide and she fought her face back into a more passive arrangement. She turned and looked back toward the rock where she met with Cam and Pal, but there was no one there, no visible heads or hands or fins.

“No, of course,” Harrow continued. She started to walk again. “They always seemed like stinky fisherman stories, but a few weeks ago, as you know, I hit my head and I fell overboard. I was presumed dead and lost, but when the boat returned to shore, they found me there, lying on the beach. I don’t remember much, but there was a woman there who helped me, and I could have sworn I saw a flash of tail when she rushed off.”

Gideon’s heart was in her throat. Her legs shook and she grabbed Harrow by the arm to halt her steps. She dropped to her knees before Harrow, her sword knocking hard against her hip. 

“What’s wrong?” Harrow asked, alarmed. When Gideon reached for Harrow’s hands, Harrow shrank back, recoiled, and then slapped Gideon’s fingers away. “Stop that. Stand up right now.”

Gideon swallowed. She stood up. She desperately wanted to gesture toward the rocks and then start pounding her own chest. She wanted to kiss Harrow’s forehead like she’d done that morning and brush her thumb along Harrow’s jaw. 

It should have been so easy to grab paper and ink and explain the entire thing in words, but Cytherea wasn’t stupid and Gideon couldn’t write a damn thing. _The Sewn Tongue_. Trying to scrawl out Naberius’s name was one thing. It didn’t work and it left an unsettling tingle in her limbs. Gideon suspected that if she tried to explain everything to Harrow in writing, she’d dissolve into seafoam on the spot, which sounded like a surefire way to traumatize the princess for life.

Harrow studied Gideon for a long time before she spoke again, as though afraid that Gideon might spontaneously pull her into a hug or run off, “As I was trying to say--since the incident, I’ve been thinking perhaps it’s time I learned how to swim. You enjoy swimming, don’t you, Griddle?”

Gideon took a deep breath to calm her heart. 

Yeah, swimming was something Gideon could absolutely handle.

**

Gideon spent the rest of the day building up the swimming lessons in her mind. This was it. Harrow would follow her into the water and all of the pieces would click into place. She’d let Gideon teach her, and Gideon would have to guide her with her hands, unable to use words. She imagined how it might go, Harrow clinging to her in the waves, fingers tight on Gideon’s arms, legs gripping firm against Gideon’s waist. 

“Oh,” Harrow would say. “It’s you! It was you all along!” And Harrow wouldn’t want to kill Gideon for saving her life. She’d kiss her instead, true love’s kiss, and all contracts would be met. Gideon would kick Naberius’s ass, kick Ianthe to the curb, and marry Harrow in her place. Drearburh would be allied with the Sea King. Harrow wouldn’t need Ida or anyone else. 

That wasn’t how it went. 

The day of Harrow’s first swimming lesson, she stood shivering in the surf, covered head to toe in black, reluctant to step in further than her knees. Gideon attempted to coax her in, but Harrow didn’t look at her with any sort of recognition. She glared and she snapped and she slapped Gideon’s hands away. 

She made it in up to her waist before she gave up, though Gideon suspected that had more to do with Ianthe and Naberius appearing on the scene, with the way Naberius whistled and Ianthe said, “You look cute out there, paddling around in your swimsuit.”

Harrow wasn’t doing any paddling, was just standing there, but that didn’t seem to matter. Anyway, Ianthe was looking at Gideon when she said it, so Gideon left the water fairly certain she’d been sabotaged. 

**

Ianthe was spending more time with Harrow, which sucked because that meant she was spending more time with Gideon. Worse, it meant that Harrow was pushing off subsequent swimming lessons and all of Gideon’s hopes and dreams for a sexy surf encounter were dashed, squashed on the rocks by the waves. Ianthe sat beside Harrow under the big umbrella, in the shade of the tower, and occasionally she stretched her hand across the gap between their chairs and tried to take Harrow’s hand in hers. Gideon consoled herself in watching Harrow knock Ianthe away. 

“No one can say I didn’t try,” Ianthe said with a heavy sigh.

When it came time for Gideon’s break, Ortus appeared and Ianthe groaned audibly. She stood from her chair and began to gather her things. 

“Leaving?” Ortus asked, a book in his hand. 

“Someone needs to check on Babs,” Ianthe said and she walked away, chair abandoned and an entire basket of belongings for Gideon to drag back inside later. Gideon contemplated following her. She wouldn’t mind checking in on _Babs_ herself, but she wasn’t entirely comfortable leaving Harrow’s general presence either, despite the fact that this was her scheduled time, time she could be using to investigate Naberius Tern. Gideon chewed on this as she stepped to the side and stripped down to her shorts and bandeau. 

She didn’t wait for the signal from the rock, dove into the water immediately and did several laps to remind Harrow that, yes, she did know how to swim and yes, she would love to teach Harrow whenever Harrow was willing to venture back in. Gideon had never taught anyone how to swim, but if it involved Harrow’s sharp nails pressing into her shoulders and her hands on Harrow’s waist, then yes, she was absolutely in and she would think of nothing else for the rest of the week, nothing else until the day she dissolved and was no more. 

Gideon climbed up onto the rock, stood tall and stared out at the sea. Cam and Pal were there waiting, but Gideon refused to sit down lest she be misinterpreted again. Instead she stood with her hands at her hips, kicking her feet as though stretching stiff muscles. Palamedes quickly grew annoyed with this, thinking she was going to kick him in the face and crack his Second Eyes on her toes.

“Listen, Gideon,” Palamedes said, exasperated. “I will go back to the Sea Witch to see if anything can be done, but you need to _try_. You’ve always been charismatic, surely you can break through to her.”

Gideon nodded and gave Palamedes a thumbs up while she stared out at the water. She was sure now. The swimming lessons were the key to Harrow. 

He huffed. “It’s ridiculous that she would accuse you of being inappropriate out here. It makes this all more difficult than it should be.”

Gideon shrugged and reached down to take the tablet he offered. She tried to play it off as though she was stretching her back, leaning down to touch her toes. She scribbled her continued suspicions about Tern, then Harrow’s request for swimming lessons. She bent again to drop the tablet into Palamedes hand.

“I’ve seen Tern,” Camilla said. “I’m pretty sure you can take him.”

“She needs reason to act,” Palamedes noted. “She won’t win Harrow’s heart by destroying the alliance with Ida without cause.” 

Gideon took a deep breath. She needed to draw Tern out. How?

By the time Gideon returned to dry land, Ianthe was back on the beach, her chair pulled into the sun and Ortus fanning her face and her shoulders. He gave Gideon a weary look as she passed. Harrow was still ensconced in her patch of shade with a big floppy hat pushed down low on her forehead. As Gideon approached, she saw something catch the light on a balcony high up in the tower. She squinted up at it and shielded her eyes from the sun. 

_What the--_

Gideon tried to shout, but no sound emerged from her throat. She ran, her feet pushing hard at the sand as she propelled herself toward Harrow. She’d never run before and she didn’t have time to think about it now, about how it felt or whether she liked it. Her lungs felt like they were about to explode and her balance felt off, like she might fall on her face in the sand at any moment, but she pushed forward, and her legs kept moving and she did not fall. She barrelled into Harrow, grabbed her around her middle and leaped out of the way. She dove onto the sand, her left shoulder scraping along the surface, her arms wrapped tight around Harrow as she twisted, planting Harrow on her back in the sand with Gideon over her. She turned her face away just as the large wooden chest fell onto Harrow’s chair, shards of wood and metal flying and landing in the sand. 

Gideon shifted her body over Harrow’s, taking a few shards of wood to the shoulders and back, one or two to the back of her thighs. She hissed at the sting, felt the tickle of blood at her back, but she was fine. They were fine. 

Somewhere behind her Ianthe was screaming and she heard the _shiiiing_ of Ortus’s sword being drawn. 

“Up there!” he shouted. “Call for the guard!” 

He lumbered toward Gideon, his own special version of a run. 

“The Princess?” he asked, already out of breath. 

“I’m all right, Ortus,” Harrow said. Her voice sounded small and muffled, buried beneath Gideon’s protective bulk. 

Ortus nodded, a hand on Gideon’s shoulder, careful not to touch her wounds. “If you’d been--You’re bleeding.”

Gideon shook her head, then tilted it toward the castle. _Go, I’m fine!_

Ortus got the message and rushed off. 

Gideon held for a long time over Harrow, her chest heaving as she tried to keep air in her lungs, as she waited for her heart to slow. Beneath her Harrow was shaking, eyes wide and dark, darting from Gideon’s face, to her chest, to the patch of sky visible beyond Gideon’s left shoulder. Gideon felt the shadow that formed there when Ianthe appeared.

“Get off of her,” Ianthe said. Her voice was cold, but trembling. Gideon moved before Ianthe could touch her, before she could embarrass herself by trying to pull Gideon off and failing. Ianthe rushed in to help Harrow to her feet. She checked Harrow over, and began brushing sand from Harrow’s trousers.

“Are you alright, Harry?” Ianthe asked.

“I’m fine,” Harrow said. She brushed Ianthe aside and moved to Gideon. “Turn around, Griddle. Ortus said you were bleeding.”

If Gideon could speak, she would have said _it’s nothing, really. I’m fine_ and refused to turn around. She couldn’t speak and when she didn’t turn, Ianthe started to huff and Harrow reached for Gideon’s arm and gave her a little push. There was a sharp intake of breath from both princesses at the state of Gideon’s back.

“We have to get you inside,” Harrow said. “You should see the doctor right away.”

If Gideon could speak, she’d say _Fuck, it hurts, but it’s fine, really. It’s just a little blood. What about the guy pushing chests off the balcony?_ and then she’d take off after Ortus, set on finding Tern and punching him in his stupid smug face. 

“Come on,” Harrow said, her arm looping through Gideon’s and Gideon felt helpless at her touch, could do nothing but follow Harrow’s lead.

**

Ianthe and Harrow hovered while the doctor pulled shards of wood from Gideon’s skin, as she washed the sand from Gideon’s wounds. Harrow kept placing her fingers against Gideon’s forearm, standing close so she could see what was happening. 

Ianthe stood back a bit and said things like, “That doesn’t look so bad,” and “If this is going to take some time, perhaps Harry and I should leave and come back. Lunch, just the two of us.”

“You’re probably wondering why I’m marrying her,” Harrow said that night as they were ready for bed. 

As Harrow’s personal guard, Gideon slept in Harrow’s chambers, in a narrow bed set up close to the door. Gideon wasn’t Harrow’s only line of defense; there were guards stationed outside the doors too, but within the room it was just Harrow and Gideon. 

The first few nights Gideon pushed her bed right up against the door so that, if anyone tried to push their way in, they’d literally have to push through her. The first few nights Gideon slept with her sword at her side. The first few nights Gideon stared up at the ceiling, couldn’t sleep at all, could think of nothing but Harrow and the deal that she’d made. 

Now Gideon shrugged. She assumed it had to do with power or money or, most likely, both power and money. That’s the way these things usually went regardless of where you were from, wasn’t it?

“Drearburh lacks resources,” Harrow explained. Right, so money then. “But we’re on the side of the bay with plentiful fish. Ida has resources, but their waters are shallow and brackish and the neighboring realm of Rhodes threatens their boats. An alliance between Drearburh and Ida will give us control of the bay.” Money and power.

Gideon nodded. It made sense in the way that any of these things made sense, which meant that it did not really make sense to her at all. Harrow shouldn’t be used as a political pawn. She should not be bought or sold, but then Gideon had always been particularly defiant to the wishes of her family, which was why Gideon was here on land instead of down below at her father’s side. It was why Gideon wasn’t likely to last more than another week. Harrow must actually care about Drearburh to go along with this. Gideon couldn’t really relate. 

Then again Gideon signed a binding magical contract that required her to make Harrow fall in love with her within two and a half weeks or else she’d die, so like--who was Gideon to say shit about anything anyone did to get what they wanted?

If she could speak, she’d probably warn Harrow. She’d say, “Drearburh and Ida will never really control the bay. You sink or swim based on the whims of the Sea King, John Pontus. He’s my dad, by the way.” Which meant that marrying Gideon would probably provide more benefit for Drearburh than Ianthe Tridentarius ever could, but Gideon’s dad didn’t really make alliances with the puny little shore realms and never had. He’d also never had a daughter who bargained for a set of legs so she could tie her life to one of those puny shore realms, so there was that.

Harrow pushed open the doors to the balcony and moved to stand at the rail, the bay opening up before her. Gideon could just make out the lights of Ida across the water. Gideon followed, leaned out over the rail to check above and below for falling chests or other similar threats. 

She felt a touch to her hand and startled, looked down to find Harrow’s fingers carefully resting on hers. 

Gideon studied their hands, Harrow’s small fingers on Gideon’s. Eventually she found the courage to look up. 

Harrow was watching her, dark eyes searching her face. Though Harrow didn’t say it aloud, couldn’t seem to find the right words, Gideon understood the touch and the look in those dark eyes as a thank you for the afternoon, for saving Harrow’s life. 

Gideon wanted to pull Harrow in, wrap her into a tight hug, but she remembered how Harrow reacted the morning when Gideon had reached for her and she didn’t dare. This was good, comfortable, pleasant even. She’d saved the girl, and here was the girl thanking her with a touch of her hand. Gideon felt...content. Something swelled in her chest and she thought it might be pride.

If there was no contract--If she was not the daughter of John Pontus, Gideon would be tempted to stay right here, to watch over Harrow for the rest of her life, content with the gratitude relayed in the careful touch of a single hand. 

They were quiet together for a long time, just standing there, side by side with hands touching. Eventually Gideon yawned and Harrow turned to go back inside. Harrow paused with her knee on her bed, a candle still held in her hand. 

“Ianthe isn’t _so_ bad, is she?” Harrow asked. 

Gideon shook her head, but she hoped that Harrow could see the lie in her eyes. She thought, from the tight edges of Harrow’s smile, that she did. 

**

Ianthe Tridentarius was taller than Gideon. Gideon thought Palamedes and Camilla went overboard on the leg specifications, really didn’t think she’d care, and she was surprised to find that Ianthe’s height absolutely enraged her. Seeing the Princess of Ida standing beside Harrow made Gideon want to dive straight back into the sea, swim right back to Cytherea and demand a fucking refund. 

The only thing stopping her was...well, the rest of Ianthe. She had the height, but luckily not much else. 

**

The salt water stung against her back and thighs. She ignored it and carefully lifted her feet from the sand. The water carried her and she stared up at the blue sky, arms stretched wide, legs stretched long, water lapping against her ears. She did this for one long, peaceful moment, and then she twisted and stood.

Harrow eyed her from the surf and said, “You make it look very easy, Griddle.”

Gideon reached for Harrow’s hand and Harrow hesitated for a moment before she took it. She let Gideon pull her deeper into the water, until it was up to her elbows. Gideon held up her hands, attempted to gesture to show Harrow what she planned to do next. She’d hold onto Harrow, prop her up until she was on her back, and when Harrow was ready, Gideon would let go and Harrow would float.

She could only hope that Harrow understood the display, that Harrow trusted her enough to go along.

Eventually Harrow nodded, her face set with hard resolve. She stepped closer to Gideon, one hand coming out to grip close to Gideon’s elbow for just a moment, a sharp squeeze, before Harrow let go. Gideon was careful when she reached out for Harrow. She slid one arm behind Harrow’s back and Harrow leaned into it, exactly as Gideon needed her to. Gideon gestured for Harrow to bring her legs up off the ground, and Harrow did, gasping as Gideon slid her other arm beneath Harrow’s thighs to steady her. 

There was a moment of panic where Harrow began to thrash, but Gideon held her tight and Harrow settled, watching Gideon as Gideon guided her up and onto her back. Harrow took deep breaths to center herself, stretched wide on the water, just as Gideon had shown her to do. Gideon waited for Harrow to nod, dark eyes locked on Gideon, and then Gideon slowly lowered her arms, just a bit, just enough that Harrow was floating, hovering above Gideon’s waiting hands. 

“Oh,” Harrow said, her voice soft. Her eyes were still on Gideon and Gideon could no longer feel the cool water against her skin. She wasn’t even touching Harrow anymore, but she felt hot, boiling, and at any moment Harrow might start to see the steam rising from the surface of the water. 

Harrow tilted her face up toward the sky and her eyes fell shut. That was better, easier. Gideon took a step back, pulled her hands away so that Harrow could see that she was doing this on her own. She felt her blood cool with the distance, felt the tight press of her heart against her ribs give way.

It was just floating. It was easy for humans, hardly anything at all, but it was a step. It was the first step toward Harrow trusting herself in the water, and it was important. Next Gideon would demonstrate holding her breath, floating on her stomach instead of her back, then gliding, then treading. She wanted to fit in as much as she could before the wedding, before Gideon was set to return to the sea. 

“Griddle?” Harrow asked, a touch of panic in her voice. Gideon stepped back into her line of sight. She smiled, eyebrows raised. _Look at you. You’re doing this._

When it came time to set Harrow back on her feet, Harrow held Gideon for a long time, her hands on Gideon’s shoulders, unwilling to let go. 

**

Things were finally going well! 

Gideon had a plan again and this time it seemed like a pretty good plan. She was running out of time, but she still had a few days left, and in the last week, she’d taught Harrow to float and hold her breath, to tread water and glide. Best of all, Harrow was still alive. GIdeon saved Harrow’s life and this time Harrow actually remembered it.

There was also--well, obviously Ianthe was still in the picture. And it felt crazy to say it, but as Harrow warmed to Gideon, she seemed to warm toward Ianthe too. There was a moment, late one evening, where Ianthe leaned in and pressed a goodnight kiss to Harrow’s temple and Harrow hardly even turned away. Gideon burned with jealousy, hardly slept at all that night, but the next day in the water, Harrow held onto her even when it wasn’t necessary, when she knew how to tread water and knew how to float and to push up off the bottom when it got too deep. She clung to Gideon, knees on either side of Gideon’s waist, and laughed, actually _laughed_ when Gideon dropped suddenly and dunked them both under. 

Before Harrow, Gideon had never once stopped to consider the appeal of a person with two legs that could wrap tight around a waist. All of her thoughts before that moment at the ship were centered on ample bosoms barely contained behind a set of shells and tapered waists that swelled at the hip, on that shapely curve of fin--but _legs_ , even those little short ones like Harrow’s--she understood now why Palamedes spent so much time making eyes up at the spires of Rhodes, trying to catch a glimpse of a human woman he fancied there.

Gideon tried not to dwell on Ianthe’s height or the press of Ianthe’s lips to Harrow’s face. Ianthe might have the longer legs, and the voice (as affected and irritating as it was) and that kiss on the temple, but she didn’t have swimming lessons. 

Gideon knew it was only a matter of time before Ianthe tried to join in. 

There was also Naberius. Naberius was still at large, still lurking, strutting around with his asscheeks pinched tight and his chest puffed out. It wasn’t ideal, but Gideon knew who to watch for, and if she stuck by Harrow--

“I heard about the falling chest, Love,” Naberius said one evening, two days before the wedding. His mouth twisted tight into a satisfied little smirk. Harrow and Gideon were on the way to Harrow’s library when they encountered the prince in the corridor. “Tough luck. Sounds like Drearburh needs better guards, leave the simpletons to the simpler things. Fishing, perhaps?”

All of Gideon’s plans went overboard with that, lost at sea, never to be found again. 

She was on Naberius in seconds, her hands tight in the lapels of his ridiculous puffy doublet. She slammed him back against the wall, her forearm pressed up against his neck.

“Griddle, stand down!” Harrow ordered.

Gideon did not stand down. She wanted to scream and shout. She wanted to get right up in Tern’s face so when she spoke, he felt the spray. _I know what you are. I will kill you without a second thought. I’m the siren that wakes the sailors at night, the daughter of the Sea King. I know how to be cruel._

She didn’t scream. She didn’t shout. She could do nothing but stand there and say it all with her arms and her eyes. 

And Naberius knew it. He smiled and said, “Big mistake, Gristle. I’m about to blow this alliance out of the fucking bay.”

Harrow took hold of Gideon’s arm and tried to yank her back. Naberius saw his chance and he sprang into action, shoving hard so that Gideon stumbled, knocking into Harrow and sending them both to the floor.

Naberius rolled his shoulders, adjusted his doublet and sneered. “Get control of your rabid dog, Harrowhark, before someone has to put her down.”

He sauntered off, his work done, and when Gideon tried to help Harrow to her feet, Harrow pushed her away. Harrow’s eyes were hard when she looked down at Gideon and she rushed after Naberius without another word. Harrow ran right toward danger, right toward her death, and Gideon could do nothing but stumble to her feet and follow.

It was a demotion, effective immediately. Ortus was ordered to step in again as Harrow’s primary guard and he regarded Gideon with big sad eyes that left her feeling even more like total shit than she already did. Gideon was ordered to step back until after the wedding. 

“Until it all smoothes over,” Aiglamene explained. “Steer clear of the Ida contingent. You don’t want to be the reason this alliance goes south. You’re good at what you do, we all see that, even the princess, but they can’t have you mucking this up. You’ll be reinstated only when and if Prince Naberius sets sail for distant shores.”

Gideon was moved to a room on a separate floor, high above Harrow’s chambers. The room was full of dusty old books and stacks of writing paper; it was obvious that Ortus Nigenad had spent some time settling in. He was nervous as he tried to tidy things for her, his hands shaking as he collected his papers and shoved books back onto the shelves.

“I’m not oblivious to the situation,” Ortus assured her. “I’ve thought long and hard about what might have happened on that beach if you weren’t there. The Princess of Ida insisted that I fan her, and my Lady approved the request, but I’ve learned my lesson. I will stick to my Lady like glue.”

Harrow sagged against the wall. “Perhaps something a little less permanent than glue?” she suggested in a parched tone.

Once Ortus had gathered his most essential things, he nodded and Harrow pushed herself away from the wall with relief. She didn’t say a word to Gideon, but her eyes lingered, and they held less anger than they had that afternoon. It confirmed one thing for Gideon: she hadn’t done lasting damage to their relationship. That much was clear. With a bit of time, they’d end up right back in the water, laughing and splashing and holding on tight.

Gideon didn’t have a bit of time. She had two days.

**

Gideon stood behind Harrow and Ianthe, back straight and eyes forward. She did not glance down, pointedly did not notice Palamedes waving frantically (yet discreetly!) from behind the meeting rock, did not look down to observe Ianthe’s hand placed over Harrow’s. She didn’t notice the way they leaned into each other, the way Ianthe’s knees pointed in toward Harrow and Harrow’s knees pointed back. 

“She’s trying,” Ortus said, in a low confidential tone, just before he rushed away for his two-hour break. 

“Griddle,” Ianthe said, squinting up at Gideon. “Could you stand a little further back? I can hear you breathing. It makes my skin crawl.” Her words were accompanied by a pathetic little shiver and a watery smile. 

Gideon did not budge. She did not take orders from Ianthe Tridentarius. 

“Harry,” Ianthe sighed. She crossed her legs, her foot almost close enough to brush Harrow’s leg. “She’s ignoring me.”

Harrow did not shrink back, but she shook her head and said: “I need her close.”

“Surely things will settle down after the wedding,” Ianthe reasoned. “I can’t understand why anyone would go to all this trouble just to kill you. You’re practically no one.”

When Ortus returned, Gideon swam out to the rock where Palamedes was waiting. Camilla pressed a knife into Gideon’s hand. It was a nice one, sharp and narrow at the end with a bit of a curve. The salt was getting to it, but it hadn’t been down there long; it was still in good shape.

“I went back to the Sea Witch,” Palamedes explained. He pushed his Second Eyes (glasses, Gideon had since learned) up on his nose. “There is another way out of this, but you aren’t going to like it.”

Gideon waited, impatient. 

“Kill her and you’re free to return to the sea.”

Gideon threw the knife back into the bay without a second’s hesitation.

**

Gideon knew it was a dream because her father looked even more ridiculous than usual. He sat on the meeting rock, a sad little frown where his smile usually rested. Instead of a crown of human foot bones--souls lost to the sea--he had the giant tusk of a narwhal sticking out of his forehead. 

“A human, Gideon?” John Pontus asked, disapproving. 

Gideon flipped him off. She’d really rather not spend her last moments listening to a lecture from her father. 

John Pontus glanced up at the sun. “Not much time now.”

The confused expression on Gideon’s face must have been all he needed to read her thoughts. “I cornered your friends and got them to talk.” He held up his hands. “Don’t worry, they’re fine. You really should have come to me first. I could have told you a tale or two. Your mother was human, did you know that?”

Gideon had not, and she wondered, suddenly, what had become of her. She wondered, suddenly, if that was the truth.

“I tore you away and claimed you for the sea,” John said, as though he’d read the question on her face. “So, you see, I understand what you’re feeling. I really do.”

Gideon really doubted the truth in that. 

“I can end it,” he said. “Is that what you want, daughter? Do you want to be saved?”

Gideon did not want to be saved. She did not want the debt. She did not want a life of sitting on rocks and watching Harrow grow old alongside the sour and shitty princess of Ida. 

He snapped his fingers and she felt the change in her throat. She coughed and then tested it: 

“Fuck you,” she spat, her voice gravel, awful. She’d made a commitment. She was seeing it through. “Interfere and I’ll tie rocks to your fins and drop you into vents.”

John Pontus’s black eyes went wide, and then he smiled. “That’s a fun thought.” Another snap of the fingers and the next time Gideon tried to speak, she came up empty. 

“It’s always a shame,” John said, sadly, “when the father outlives the child.”

If she was very fast, she could grab the tusk from atop his head and stab him with it. She wasn’t that fast, not nearly fast enough to outlast him, but this was a dream, so what the fuck? Why not? 

Gideon grabbed the tusk and it broke off of his forehead with an easy snap. The break pushed John off balance and he flailed on the rock and began to slide back into the sea. In the dream, Gideon was very fast. She grabbed him by the shoulder and thrust the narwhal tusk into his heart.

John laughed and Gideon woke, sweating and alone in an unfamiliar bed. She sat up and looked out just in time to see the rope swinging in the wind just past her balcony. 

Gideon grabbed her sword and slipped from her bed.

The wind was cool, the sound of the sea below deafening. Gideon wasted no time. The rope was tied to a balcony on the floor above hers and it dropped to one two stories below. There was no doubt in Gideon’s mind who that room belonged to, or what was about to happen within. 

Gideon had never thought much about heights. Space was different beneath the surface where you could move in all directions without ever worrying about a fall. Having never worried about it before, she refused to think about it now. She secured her sword at her hip and threw a leg over the edge of the balcony, her hands tight on the rope. She tugged to make sure it was secure. It felt tight. 

_Here goes_. 

Gideon started her descent, the wind whipping at her clothes and slapping hard against her skin. . 

She was quiet as she maneuvered herself onto Harrow’s balcony. The doors to Harrow’s chambers were standing open and the sound of the waves and the wind muffled the sound of her feet. Harrow’s room was dark, but Gideon was familiar with the space and she could see the lump that was Ortus asleep in Gideon’s former bed and the lump that was Harrow’s in the large bed across the room. A dark shadow stood over Harrow, the same shadow Gideon remembered from the ship.

Naberius Tern. Finally. 

He held one of Harrow’s many pillows in his hand and as Gideon watched, he positioned the pillow and then pressed it down tight over Harrow’s face. Harrow woke with a start, her cry muffled by the fabric pressed to her mouth, voice stolen by this slithering snake of Ida.

Gideon did not shout as she stepped into the room. She did not cry out _I knew it!_ , even as her heart screamed the words. She was silent as she stepped up behind Babs, and then she saw Harrow, struggling beneath his hands, arms flailing, fingers scratching at his arms to no avail.

Gideon snapped. She yanked Naberius back and shoved him across the room. He fell against Harrow’s wardrobe and slid down to the floor with a shout. That woke Ortus, who sputtered and said, “What--? Who goes--?!” but Gideon wasn’t done. She crouched over Naberius, grabbed him by the front of the shirt and pushed him out onto the balcony. She glanced back to check that Harrow was up, and found Harrow sitting in the center of her bed staring, mouth slack and the pillow held tight in her hands. 

Gideon turned back to Tern as he drew his sword. She was ready for that. She drew hers and advanced. It felt good in her hand and she suspected she’d be good with it. 

_Let’s find out_.

The _clang_ of metal hitting metal rang out over the howl of the wind. Naberius Tern was fast, but it turned out Gideon was fast too. The sword felt heavy in her hand, but it moved easier than it ever had down on the reef and she met Tern’s every thrust and every slash. Each time she advanced, Naberius stepped back. He was running out of room and he knew it. When he glanced back over his shoulder Gideon threw her sword aside and punched him in the gut. The sword felt good, but she didn’t need a blade for this. She wanted the satisfaction of feeling his face break against her hand. 

She punched him again and he stumbled back toward the railing with a shout. Gideon’s hand screamed and she ignored it. There was blood at the corner of his lip and he wiped it away, reaching for his sword again, but Gideon was faster. She had him up against the railing in no time, her hands on his shoulders, pinning his arms and pushing him back over the edge.

“Wait!” he cried out, voice thick with his desperation. 

“Why?” Harrowhark demanded. She appeared at Gideon’s side clad only in her heavy nightgown, the fabric flapping in the wind at her knees. 

Gideon held the prince up over the edge, tipped him back further until he sputtered an answer. “It should have been me!”

Gideon frowned and turned to Harrow to see if she understood.

“What should have been you?”

“I was the one that went to the King and requested a union. Princess Dulcinea, I’d suggested, a worthy alliance! Why tie yourself to this shithole when you could have the entirety of Rhodes?”

Gideon raised her eyebrows, tipped Naberius further over the edge. If she dropped him, he’d land in the same spot as the trunk he’d intended to crush Harrow. It seemed a fitting end.

“If you value your life,” Harrow said, “and based on your sniveling, it seems that you do, I’d refrain from calling my realm a shithole again. Continue. The King of Ida refused your request?”

“Ida never asked. Next thing I knew, Ianthe was committed to Drearburh and I was sent along with her. I was boarding the boats when I heard the news that the Princess Coronabeth would be tied to Rhodes in my place.”

Harrow paused. “So why me? It’s petty revenge for a slight, I get that, but what do I have to do with any of this?”

Naberius shrugged, which was honestly impressive considering his position. 

“Oh,” Harrow said. Her hand came up to rest at Gideon’s elbow and she turned to glance back at Ortus as well. “I think I understand. Do you see, Ortus?”

“I do, my lady. Naberius recognized you as the easier target. He would implicate Ida in your death as revenge for being an unmarriageable prick.”

“Yes, that about covers it. Pull him in, Griddle.”

That was enough for Gideon. She dropped the guy onto the balcony and kicked him once for good measure. 

Harrow picked up Gideon’s discarded sword, grunting a little at the weight of it. She offered it to Gideon. “Well done, Griddle. Drearburh owes you an apology.”

Gideon took the sword with a nod and tried to ignore the warmth that flooded her chest at Harrow’s praise. 

**

The wedding was still on. Ianthe seemed genuinely disgusted when she learned of what Naberius had done, and there was a moment when Gideon thought she might grab a sword and run him through herself. From the wild look in those cool violet eyes, Gideon thought she might really revel in it. It was the first time Gideon actually felt a kinship with Ianthe Tridentarius. It was likely that it would also be the last. 

Ortus dropped to his knees before Aiglamene, begged for Gideon’s immediate promotion. Aiglamene pointed out that the security could, perhaps, be relaxed now that the culprit had been apprehended, but Harrow was quick to shake her head at that. 

“I woke with a pillow over my face, Captain. I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep alone for some time.”

“Lucky for you, come tomorrow night, you’ll be sleeping beside your wife,” Aiglamene said.

Gideon might have imagined the moment of hesitation from Harrow. If it was real, Harrow caught herself quickly, and said, “I look forward to it. Until then, Griddle will return to the guard’s bed in my chambers.”

“Of course,” Aiglamene agreed. “Ortus will stop by tomorrow to collect his things.”

**

“Griddle?” Harrow said in the dark of the bedroom. Gideon could not respond, but she shifted on her small bed, made some noise to show Harrow that she was awake and she was listening. “Did I lock the balcony door?”

Harrow did lock it and Gideon double checked the lock before getting into bed. She couldn’t say this, so she stood and moved to the door to check again. The key was still there, still turned. The door was locked against the wind.

Harrow sat up in the bed. The blankets pooled around her waist and she seemed to glow in the moonlight streaming in through the windows. She was looking at Gideon in a way that Gideon could only describe as beseeching. Gideon understood the unspoken question at once. She stepped toward Harrow’s bed and waved Harrow aside. 

Harrow slid over immediately, held the blankets back for Gideon to climb in beside her. Gideon settled down against Harrow’s pillows, pressed her nose to the fabric and felt surrounded in Harrow. She left herself open and Harrow accepted the invitation, moved in close, and sighed when Gideon settled an arm over her, closing her in. 

“I owe you my life,” Harrow started but she stopped, short, when Gideon shook her head.

There was no debt. Harrow didn’t owe her a thing. Tomorrow Harrow would marry Ianthe--they might even be happy--and Gideon would return to the sea. She’d done what she’d come here to do. Harrow was safe, no longer in danger. What was more, she no longer seemed a danger to herself.

“I’m...safe with you,” Harrow whispered. Gideon felt the puff of Harrow’s breath hot on her cheek. “It seems ridiculous, in a way. We’ve known each other just a few weeks and Drearburh knew nothing of you before you arrived. You could have been the one trying to kill me for all anyone knew, and now we’re here and I can’t imagine ever trusting anyone else more.”

Gideon had one day left with only a few options if she intended to live beyond that. 

She could kill Harrow. She could kiss Harrow.

Fuck it. Gideon was seafoam tomorrow, but tonight she was alive. 

She took her chance; she kissed Harrow, chaste and gentle, her mouth pressed to the place where Harrow’s nose met the bone of her frontal sinus. Harrow’s intake of breath was loud and sudden. Gideon tried to pull back--she could still apologize. Harrow would be able to read those words on her lips if she said them--but Harrow caught her and pulled her in again. And then Harrow kissed her. Really kissed her, on the mouth, soft and careful, and when Gideon kissed back, Harrow melted beneath her hands. 

Eventually Harrow turned her face away, pressed herself up against Gideon’s chest with a sigh. 

“It changes nothing though, does it?” Harrow asked. “Tomorrow I must marry the Princess of Ida.”

That was it then. 

Gideon had lost. 

**

Gideon sat on the rock with her toes in the water. She listened to the sound of the music wafting up and over the walls of Drearburh. The sun was starting to set. Soon the wedding would start, but Gideon would not be there to see it. Gideon would be gone on the waves.

They were quiet that morning, tentative with each other, neither Harrow nor Gideon sure how to address what had happened during the night. Harrow couldn’t look at Gideon for longer than a glance, couldn’t seem to speak more than a word at a time. When Ortus appeared for his things, they were awkward, sitting on opposite sides of the room while he stumbled and gathered his papers and books. 

“Right,” Ortus said. “Well, happy day! There’ll be cake at the wedding!”

Now Palamedes held Gideon’s hand. Camilla stayed close by her other side, her fingers pressed tight to the rock. All three of them watched the setting sun. As the final sliver of that great orb disappeared below the horizon, Gideon shut her eyes. She felt it starting, a tingle in her toes, a twinge in her hip. Would it be messy? Would it hurt? Could she scream?

It didn’t matter. Whatever happened, it was worth it. 

She saved the girl. She kissed the girl. She lost the girl. 

There would be no intervention from the Sea King. He could take it up with Cytherea after she was dead. That was fine with Gideon. She’d lived her life both under the sea and, for a short time, above it. She swam with the ships and she ran on the sand. There weren’t many who could say that. 

She would never forget the taste of Harrow’s kiss or the way it felt to fall asleep with Harrow held safe in her arms, her body pressed tight to Harrow’s back and Harrow’s fingers entwined in hers. She’d carry that with her on the waves, to every corner of the ocean, to shores in every realm. A human would crouch down on the other side of the sea and press her fingers into the foam at the water’s edge and her heart would swell and she’d feel fulfilled. 

Take her then. Go on, Cytherea, take her. Gideon was ready.

“Gideon?” 

Gideon gasped at the sound of her name before she realized it was only Palamedes beside her, his voice low, gentle. 

Gideon held. She did not dare open her eyes. 

A moment later Camilla echoed her name. 

Gideon opened one eye. The sun was gone; the sky was nearly dark. The music had stopped.

Gideon looked down at her legs. She wiggled her toes. Nothing had changed.

“I think,” Palemedes started, but Camilla stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. She tilted her head toward Drearburh. 

“Turn around.”

Gideon twisted to look back toward the shore. Harrow was standing there, the dark lace of her dress dragging in the damp sand. She was staring at them, perfectly still, with a plate of something held tight in her hands. 

“She sees us,” Camilla said. 

“She doesn’t,” Palamedes countered.

“She does,” Gideon confirmed. Gideon lifted her hand, a careful wave in Harrow’s direction. Palamedes and Camilla dipped beneath the surface and out of sight. Palamedes squeezed her foot once in encouragement and farewell.

“Griddle?” Harrow called from the shore. Her voice was barely audible over the waves. Before Gideon would stand, Harrow set down her plate and rushed into the water. 

“Wait!” Gideon called. That dress had to be heavy and it wasn’t long before Harrow began to struggle. 

That got Gideon moving, and it turned out that her legs still worked just fine. She dove into the water and swam the short distance to where Harrow floundered in the heavy wedding dress. She took Harrow in her arms and pulled them toward the shore while Harrow’s fingers pressed at her shoulders and her neck, while Harrow’s mouth tasted the skin at Gideon’s throat and her jaw. Gideon stopped moving as soon as she could stand, determined to savor this moment, this change in the wind that brought her everything she’d ever wanted. 

“Harrow,” Gideon said, and Harrow responded with a searing kiss. 

“I knew it,” Harrow gasped. She pressed kiss after kiss to Gideon’s lips. “I saw them, Griddle. I thought I was insane for thinking--I kept pushing it aside, but I was right. You’re the woman from the beach.” She kissed across Gideon’s face, forehead and nose, cheeks, jaw. “I called off the wedding. I’ve destroyed everything and we might never recover. My parents may never speak my name again and I don’t care about any of it. All day it’s been you. All day it was the gold of your eyes, the feel of your mouth and the strength of your arms. You and you and you.”

Gideon kissed her again, tasted the salt on their lips and savored the bite of it against her tongue. These weren’t the careful kisses they’d shared during the night. These kisses burned with the heat in her veins and hammered fast alongside her heart. They were everything she’d held in, every word she swallowed because it couldn’t be said, every aborted touch. They all came out now in this frenzied press of lips, of teeth and tongue, fingers and legs. 

When Harrow pulled back it was with a great gasp, an intake of breath so large it was as though she’d just surfaced after a long swim.

“I’ve been walking all over Drearburh looking for you,” Harrow said, breathless, ravenous. “I brought you dessert. I know you--” Harrow paused, stricken. She pressed her hands to Gideon’s face, searched Gideon’s eyes for something Gideon didn’t understand. When Harrow finally spoke again, she said: “You said my name. I heard you say my name.”

That startled Gideon, who’d been so caught up in Harrow she hadn’t registered the change. “I can talk,” she agreed, and then she shouted in relief. “Fuuuuck, I’ve got so much to tell you,” 

Her legs felt weak, like they might give out any second. Harrow noticed and reached out to steady Gideon, her hands on Gideon’s arms. 

Gideon continued: “Like, _so_ much to tell you. I think you guessed the mermaid thing now, and also that Ianthe _sucks_ , but Harrow--”

“Griddle,” Harrow interrupted. Her hands slid up Gideon’s arms, up her shoulders and neck until they found Gideon’s jaw. She pressed her fingers over Gideon’s lips. 

“Yeah, about that,” Gideon said. She pressed kisses to Harrow’s fingers as she spoke through the gaps. “It’s Gideon, actually.” 

“Shh,” Harrow said, hands insistent on Gideon’s face, dark eyes on Gideon’s mouth. “Later, Griddle. I promise I’ll listen to everything you’ve ever wanted to say.” 

Gideon laughed and kissed Harrow again.


End file.
